On Letting Go
by elismorty
Summary: After an unexpected twist of fate, twenty six year old Eli Goldsworthy, a jaded and deeply discontent IRS worker, sets out to alter the lives of five deserving strangers. With his task comes a chance for the redemption he's long since craved, one he's not sure he can refuse. Rated M for future chapters.
1. Let the River In

**This whole story is loosely based off of the movie _Seven Pound_s. I say loosely because I'm going to change certain details about it to better suit the characters. It's possible to enjoy this story even without having seen it - but if you do - you'll ruin the plot for yourself. If you prefer the mystery, I'd suggest not watching it yet so I can spin the tale together for you myself. This first chapter is just a small taste, they'll lengthen out over time. **

**I own nothing except my interpretations of the characters.**

**Enjoy! Reviews are strongly encouraged and very welcome, since I'd like to know if there's interest in it thus far. **

* * *

_I've seen you watching_

_I've seen you drifting away_

_Seen you falling along_

_I've seen you disappear_

_Now the bed's on fire and the ceiling's gone_

_And your mom and dad still sing the same old song_

_Don't scare me off now, I'm your only friend_

_And now I'm free to sink my own damn ship_

_I cut the bridge down from my family tree_

_To start a fire in the middle_

_Now the house is just ash this time, sink or swim_

_Let the river in_

_If blood is thicker than water_

_Then let the river in_

_We might drift away, but we've got thick skin_

According to Wikipedia, the average life expectancy for a male in the United States is 75.35.

The number seemed like a fair chance to anyone, under any circumstance and coming from any background. A little over seventy five was a promise to live one's life to the fullest- to execute their wildest dreams within that time span of 3,913.31 weeks, 27,393.2 days, and 65,7436 hours. One could do the math for minutes and seconds, but that isn't truly the point here.

A person could manage to create a firmly established relationship with their family, grow close to their siblings and learn all they needed to know, (along with some added bullshit for variety) during their childhood years. Their personality, aspirations, and insecurities could be cultivated. And they would forever follow the individual, haunting them through every milestone, each failure.

All of the required suffering could be completed during adolescent years, when one's main goal is to brood and loathe the world, most of all themselves in it. The desire to question things would never be far, doubting every rule and universal truth that had ever been shoved down their throat. Rebellion would be introduced, given a chance to root itself into the individual. An aloof apathy might even form, after so many disappointments – both from others and one's self. Every hormonally driven hardship could be met, anywhere along the lines of drug abuse to family troubles, to failing grades to carrying potential life inside one's abdomen. The possibilities for suffering are endless in these tumultuous, and oftentimes wistful years.

Adulthood would perhaps be the prime of one's life- the beginning at least. High school ending would cue a new outlook, a whole new perspective opened up before one's eyes. With it would come the options of attending university, or perhaps delving straight into a career, if at all possible. Opportunities for a new love life might sprout up, and one might even get a brief taste of love, if they're lucky. Or at the very least, a teasing, fleeting glimpse of it.

The rest of their life would carry on consequentially, depending on how they chose to spend those three segments, depending on the factors that shaped them, and the events that marred them. The next forty to fifty years would come to pass as a direct result of how they lived the first twenty five, roughly.

But Eli Goldsworthy knew he wouldn't live a day over thirty. He had known for a long time.

While others let the venom into their lives by who they associated with, he had been spinning it together all on his own for a long while. Unconsciously, of course. No one else had ever been the master of his destiny. He was solely responsible for each up and down he'd ever faced. Not surprisingly, the downs were more frequent as of late.

But now, he knew it had been coming all along. Every step he'd taken since the age of seventeen had been leading up to this final act, the last scene in the proverbial play of his life, at twenty six and three quarters. Nearly an entire decade was used up, merely leading up to his demise.

To him, it had been time well spent.

The old fashioned rotary phone weighed a million and ten pounds in his trembling hands, the veins already beginning to swell, popping out along his otherwise alabaster skin. He had two, maybe five minutes until his body gave out, finally giving up the fight that could have lasted fifty years longer, had he chose to stay.

26,08.87 weeks.

18,262.1 days.

43,8291 hours.

Instead, it was all reduced to 9,496.3 days. Each one numbered, all leading to the eventual collapse.

And this was the last available day on his calendar, marked with an "x" in the center.

He never assumed dialing three digits could be so difficult. But the task was proving be impossible in the dim glow of the lamp beside him, in a dreary hotel, somewhere in the state of New York. It was about as shady as it could get, but he didn't deserve anything better for his dying day.

For a moment, the instinct to survive, to stand a fighting chance in hell at making it out of the situation kicked in, and he almost regretted it. _Almost. _

Until he remembered the delicate tendrils framing her face.

And how easily she smiled, even when she was going for treatments.

Her constant grace under fire, the simplicity of her strength. How unyielding it was. Even when she knew that her days were numbered, and not by a personal choice.

Instead he smiled, imagining a strong heart pounding in her chest, instead of the weak one she was born with.

One that beat so _tirelessly,_ relentlessly, that he was almost sick of it himself. One that refused to quit.

"911 emergency." the flat voice on the other end answered. Had he been thinking clearly, he might have wondered how the operator could sound so dismal, as if her life wasn't chock full of excitement. After all, she was something of a puppeteer in such a job. She had the capability to deny someone the help they needed in the moment, allowing them to go without treatment. Bleed out on their white carpet floor, choke on a piece of chicken that went down the wrong way, hemorrhage at their daughter's funeral while the blushing bride dialed the phone, begging for assistance. The possibilities were endless, and he imagined she'd seen them all.

With such power in her possession, Eli hoped she would sound the least bit excited about it. Or at least antsy. After all, his well-being was in her hands now.

"I need an ambulance." he choked out, his own voice sounding foreign to him. Gravelly. The weight was finally getting to him, the toxin coursing through his veins and shutting down each organ, one by one.

The dull voice echoed back his current address to him, to which he nodded numbly. His grip on time and space was slipping quickly, a warm sensation creeping from his wrist up the rest of his left side. It wouldn't be long now at all.

"And what's your emergency, sir?" she queried, just as cool and collected as before.

_Sound panicked, worried, anything. Just fucking tell me you're human. _

_Because I'm not panicked, someone should be._

_Someone should fucking care._

Maybe she would, but it'd be too late. He never deserved her kindness in the first place.

A distinct aching sensation took hold of him, at the center of his chest, stretching outward.

"There's been a suicide."

"And who is the victim?"

He would have chuckled if he could, if only he had control over his motor functions. It was a shock that he was still holding the phone even, his other hand cradling his head as he began to convulse.

"...I am."


	2. The Futurist

**_Takes place roughly six weeks prior to Chapter One_**

* * *

_We have been in the dark for too long  
__We don't see the broken part is our heart_

_All the seeds that grow__  
__Are the ones you sowed_

It started with his damn curiosity- his nagging need to look into people's profiles in a more in-depth fashion than was truly moral or polite for his position. Being an IRS worker came with a few perks, among them the ability to tap into someone's personal life merely by looking them up in the system.

Eli could tell a few things about a person just by their financial record. After all, money made the world go round, and lack thereof oftentimes put a complete halt to it. He was usually most interested in the ones who were filthy rich or dirt poor – two separate ends of the spectrum that unfailingly served as a tell to how the person in question lived. From there, he could pull up their educational history, any degrees they might have as well and what field they were in- if any at all. Even further, sometimes he browsed through family links and marital ties, though it truly wasn't his business at all. He knew sticking his nose where it didn't belong was just about as unethical as it got but he needed to, for his research.

He wasn't an IRS worker because he enjoyed serving people, or because he relished that dread-ridden look on their faces when they realized they were in fact being served. Hounding people to pay back the government was never something he got off on. If anything, he felt guilty most of the time for reminding people that they were failing in their life, letting certain aspects of it fall by the wayside. There was never enough currency to go around and Eli knew it for a fact. He couldn't fault these people for their unpunctual habits and delayed payments- even though it was his job to.

The days when he worked as a CEO for his own publishing company were still crystal clear in his mind, back when Goldcoyne Incorporated was alive and well. But after the Gold part of the partnership went to hell, The Coyne end gave up as well. Now, it was merely a distant, plaguing memory of his glory days that he longed to return to. If only he had the motivation or care. Both were stripped of him too soon.

It was during the third hour of his eight hour long shift, in his cubicle at work that he found Campbell Saunder's profile, and it immediately caught his interest.

White male, twenty four years old, cable company telemarketer, countless digits in debt, and legally blind.

_Legally blind. _

Eli sat back in his somewhat beaten computer chair, listening to the creak of it as he let the full weight of his back rest on it. One thing he truly didn't enjoy was approaching someone who was already down on their luck from the start, through avenues they had absolutely no control over. It pained him to see them struggling already and to top it all off, he would be adding to their load. It didn't seem fair or right to be burdening them with the knowledge that they were heavily in debt, even though they were more likely than not already aware.

In many ways, Eli was the bearer of bad news in its worst form. The only ways he could see himself being worse would be if he had gone into a field in the police force, or a surgeon. Both delivered mind blowing news that could shatter a person's world instantly. His brand of news was a long-living one, one that could easily be buried and ignored. The shock value was absent for the most part but all the same, he never took glee in delivering the grand total of a person's debt. The look of dejection written all over their face made his own grow pale, the knot of guilt only tightening in his gut. He always wanted to say "don't shoot the messenger", but if someone had, he wouldn't have been able to rightfully blame them.

Perhaps that was why he felt so obligated to give back, even in the smallest of ways. For the most part, he was understanding about giving extensions or skimming off a few hundred if someone showed sincere interest in making a payment plan. Eli could never be called unforgiving or unmerciful. All he was made up of was mercy – for everyone but himself.

He glimpsed over Mr. Campbell's profile a while longer, learning that he had been born blind and finished high school, but never took a stab at university.

_Unfortunate. _

There were too many avenues one could take to better themselves in this day and age, even with an impairment. Associations were dedicated to bettering the lives of the blind but it seemed this particular man had thrown in the towel too early, though Eli couldn't fathom why.

He wasn't sure what possessed him to dial the number listed for his workplace, but before he knew it, his fingers were poking at the listed numbers, and he was greeting with a dial tone before a female voice by the name of Mindy picked up.

Hang up. Try again.

The next time, someone named Jack.

Hang up. Try again. Eli was hellbent on catching this Campbell character.

After twelve tries, he nearly hung up the phone immediately until he heard a soft male voice introduce himself as Campbell Saunders, thanking him for calling and asking how he could be of service.

"Hey, yeah. Pitch me something about your cable company." he spoke brashly, heading right into the conversation without a pretense or a warm up.

There was a small pause before Campbell spoke again, clearing his throat. "Well uh, sir, can I have your name first so I can properly address you?"

Eli groaned to himself impatiently. "Eli."

"Wonderful then, Eli." he replied cheerily, as though he was truly happy to make his acquaintance.

The guy was already making the task impossible for him. He didn't even know it.

"Let me tell you about our triple play package for a moment. We start you off with internet, phone, and cable service, all for the flat price of $89.99 for your first year." he stated confidently, to which Eli nodded. All he had at home was internet, and from another provider. The other two felt useless to him, as he never bothered himself with the mind numbing shit on TV and hated talking to people. Having either was pointless.

"For the first year?" challenged Eli, leaning in a bit and resting his elbows on his desk, "So what you're saying is you'll jack up the price and screw me over later after the year's up, am I right?" he quipped, amused at the thought of putting him on edge. This was how he always was, despite his ultimately good intentions. He was all too good at pushing buttons; he always had been. It was one of the main things that drove close friends and family away. He preferred it as such.

"N- no, I wouldn't say we'd seek out to um, screw you over, sir." Campbell stammered uncomfortably, his anxiety almost palpable even through the phone.

"Then what would you consider it? You pitch me this damn good price- almost too good, if I might add- and then there has to be a catch. I know how you people work. The second year, the price will skyrocket and I'll be pissed as shit because by then, I'm dependent on your services. Isn't that right?"

"Sir- E-Eli," he tried again, chuckling nervously to himself. Eli could almost picture the dude shaking in his seat, stunned by his brazen approach. He was even surprising himself, knowingly picking on this guy. But he needed to know. He needed to know exactly how he'd react, to gauge him. "We do need to increase the price over time because as you know, nothing comes for free but along with that, you get added services. We could include extra channels or- or DVR functions, even HBO..." he trailed off, but Eli was losing his patience.

"Alright. Tell me this. If I wanted to get just the cable and internet, and I was sticking to you guys for three years, without any of that extra add on shit, how much would that add up to? Can you calculate that for me?"

"I can, one moment please." Campbell replied, his voice finally somewhat confident. An obviously automated voice blurted out the total to him, and that was all the convincing Eli needed. He truly was blind.

"Excuse me, what was that?" he chuckled, almost in a chastising manner. "Mr. Saunders, are you a blind man?"

"...Your total after three years per bill would come to..."

"No, I don't care about the fucking price anymore, like I even need shitty cable. I asked you a question: are you or are you not blind?"

The silence he was met with on the phone served as an answer, though Campbell sounded hesitant about it.

"What does my sight or lack thereof have to do with this, sir?" he asked carefully, a light laughter present in his tone. He was trying so hard to remain collected, to not let everything Eli said get to him.

"You're blind, yet you're a telemarketer for a _cable company_? Can you even watch TV?"

He was hitting low, but again, it was nothing but necessary.

Campbell exhaled slowly on the other end, "I enjoy television, yes."

"You _listen_ to TV, that's not enjoying it. You can't see the actors and the commercials. You don't even really know what a person truly looks like." Eli spat back out, his tone growing more venomous by the second.

Why was he growing so defiant? It was an anger he couldn't quite describe, one that barely compute in his own mind yet he couldn't stop it, wanting to make this man feel bad over nothing that was under his control.

"I don't see how this has anything to do with-"

"You can't even see your own goddamn reflection. You couldn't see your girlfriend's reflection if you wanted to. Do you have a girlfriend, Campbell? Can I ask that?"

"I...not in a while, no. I'm not seeing anyone currently."

"Are you a virgin, Mr. Saunders?" he pressed, his eyes narrowing as he held the phone closer to his ear, "Have you never had the raw pleasure of fucking a woman? Hearing her moan out your name? Watching her face contort because it's your-"

Campbell's shaky voice butted in, "No, n-no, I haven't. I haven't done that. Not yet." he moused, earning a wicked sneer from Eli.

"Not ever is more like it. Why didn't you go to college?"

The pause on the other line went on for a moment too long, and Eli knew he shouldn't have phrased his question so blatantly. As if he knew, because he did. The record was on the screen right in front of him.

"How do you...?"

"Just answer the damn question. Were you too cowardly to go to college, Campbell? Were you too fucking scared that you'd fail? Because you can't see a goddamn thing?"

"If you have no further questions about our cable service, I'm afraid I can't help you." he stated flatly, his quivering voice betraying his true feelings. Eli was getting to him, and he knew all too well. He was cracking and he needed to.

"Why are you such a coward, Campbell?!" he nearly shouted into the phone, almost forgetting that he was still at work, though his cubicle was somewhat isolated from the rest, just as he preferred it. "Why are you so afraid to try? To experience things? You're working at a cable company for fuck's sake! You've never made love to a woman, you've never done a fucking noteworthy thing in your whole sorry existence!" His hand was gripping the edge of his chair, his knuckles turning a pale white with his firm grip.

Shakily, as though he was on the verge of breaking down entirely, Campbell spoke,"It's been a pleasure speaking to you, sir. If you have any other questions, feel free to call. Goodbye." he said in a monotone.

"Wait! No, I wasn't done speaking to-" The dial tone cut him off, the irksome noise halting him in his words. "You coward!" he spat into the receiver, his heart pounding furiously as he hung up the phone, nearly smashing it in the process.

It was his own fault that he was fuming, he knew. No one forced him to pick up the phone and verbally assault a perfectly content, kind blind man while he was at his job. For all intents and purposes, his questions only came off as cruel and unusual, not warranted at all by anything Campbell had said or did. Hell, they were complete strangers before their brief, albeit fiery talk over the phone.

But now he knew for sure, he was worth the time it took. Finding out more about his life would be a wise step and one he was willing to take, if the man could ever forgive him. He knew rationally that if anyone had ever spoken to him like that, not only would he disregard them in the future but he would give them the migraine of their life in return. Eli put up with no one, yet he expected others to take his crap without question. It rarely made sense and even more rarely worked out in his favor, but he could only work with what he was given. As of then, he was equipped with a sharp-tongue and an IRS case file. There wasn't much else to go on.

At one point in time, he knew he had been soft. He had been subtle, gentle, sensitive. Numerous positive adjectives could be bestowed upon him, before he threw it all to hell. Now, he couldn't even consider himself an empty shell of what he used to be; somehow he was even worse than that. Half the time, he barely felt human. Feelings were too intense and attachments too demanding. Avoiding any and all contact with old friends was necessary for him to keep the smallest shred of what sanity he had left. Most of the time, it felt like a phantom of what he used to possess. On a daily basis, he played tricks on his own mind to make himself feel as though he still had a grip on his life, himself. Things surely couldn't be quite that out of hand if he was still living and breathing, right?

Rationalizing it never led anywhere and that was when Eli resorted to drinking binges, occasionally taking it upon himself to self-medicate with his depression pills when nothing else took the edge off. T stupors helped, though he hated blacking out for sometimes days at a time.

After collecting himself as much as he could possibly get, he returned his attention to the files, picking through the few he'd been eying before Campbell's. There were four others, two males and two females.

While he wanted to tackle them all at once, even though it was impossible, he narrowed it down to the youngest, a Miss Clare Edwards being the new face on his screen.

Shit, she was pretty.

No. She wasn't even pretty. Using the word pretty for a woman like her would be a severe downgrade, one she didn't deserve. The pedestal, the appreciation wasn't great enough for how aesthetically pleasing her features were. Even in a small picture such as the phone displayed to him just then, her gentle beauty sent chills down his spine again and again.

She was _gorgeous_. Drop dead, terrifyingly, undeniably gorgeous. And that was a judgment Eli had found himself straying away from placing on any female in quite some time. Yet she earned it so easily, he didn't even know her.

Clare Edwards was the kind of woman Eli could only dream of being worthy of having, even in the most carnal of senses. He barely deserved her then, never mind in a completely genuine and romantic sense.

Staring in dumbfounded awe at her profile, he realized he was getting far, far ahead of himself in his thinking, focusing too heavily on her face instead of her information.

Just like the rest that he was looking into, she wasn't rich by any means.

Twenty four years old, in debt up to her eyeballs, freelance journalist with infrequent jobs, suffering from heart failure.

_No..._

It didn't add up at all. How could a girl like that – one so ethereal and innocent looking – be cursed with something as terrible as heart failure? It didn't add up at all in Eli's eyes, his jaw hanging slightly agape as he skimmed over the rest of her information, his own chest aching just a bit at the tidbit about her.

It had been a long time since Eli had felt that ache, and it always accompanied the thoughts of specters from his past. Be it the loss of his loved ones or the loss of himself, he never would have guessed that that sense of deep pity, of utter sympathy would hit him for someone he barely knew. At least not in such a heavy, concentrated dose.

He had to close out of her page before it consumed him too completely, pulling away from his desk and rising from the seat to get himself some coffee, to stretch his legs.

To distract himself from the painfully gorgeous girl who was suffering from heart failure.

No wonder she was in such debt, no doubt from medical bills and things along that vein. Piling onto her already massive load wouldn't be an easy task for him, but just the same as it had been with Campbell, he needed to find out if she was worth the effort, the time.

Pouring himself a cup of coffee, Eli noted his own hands trembling a bit, evidence of the fact that he'd replaced his morning dosage with alcohol, the latter of which didn't do much for him after a few hours. His tolerance was higher than he was willing to admit to anyone, but now. Not that anybody truly cared anymore, not after what he'd done. He knew they probably all saw it coming anyway, after the way he ruined his entire future in the blink of an eye.

With minimal spillage and most of his cool regained, Eli returned to his desk and placed the steaming cup down gingerly, returning once again to Miss Edwards' information. She worked from home mostly, and her address was listed.

A part of him- a very large one at that- could sense the risk in approaching someone he felt immediately drawn to. There was a massive warning sign that screamed _NO_ blinking in front of his eyes every time he glanced over at her picture. She seemed warm, kind. Genuine, whole. Not damaged and frayed like him, impaired in the worst way a person could be- up in the head. Just by appearances alone, he was drawing up a concept of her in his head. He was well aware that it could have been far off. For all he knew, this Clare Edwards might be one of the most malicious, wicked, self-serving women in the world. But with such an instantaneous impression, he felt he could trust his gut.

But the longer he stared at her picture, the more he just didn't give a damn. Indulging his temptation was something he'd always been far too adept at, and this didn't seem to be any different.

It wouldn't hurt to drop by the next day, simply to see if she was around, and up for discussing matters. Though he knew he had to follow his own protocol to see if all his efforts would even be worthwhile, something told him she was already deserving. Perhaps the most out of the bunch he'd selected.


End file.
